


Incidental Remarks

by wordslinger



Series: Meet the Fernandes Family [2]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: F/M, character and relationship tags will be added as they appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: A companion piece of explicitly rated material forSiegrain in Lutalicafeaturing secondary pairs and scenes that are mentioned but not shown in the main story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As stated in the summary this is an aside to [Siegrain in Lutalica](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11422053). I don't want to change the rating of the main story and some of the thoughts I have about Mystogan in particular are not only extraneous but inappropriate for a T-rated fic.

When he saw her again for the first time his stomach dropped and his heart stuttered. He spun on his heel and fled the area as quickly as possible. Mystogan couldn't ever recall having what some would describe as a romance. He had flings. One offs. Sure some of them he'd been with more than once but for the most part he still considered the encounters as nothing but an agreement. He was stressed, they were stressed. Everybody won. Juvia hadn't started off as any different but she _became_ different. The change both terrified and frustrated him.

Juvia's mother was a well known psychaitrist. Growing up with a woman who had a sharp eye for people had rubbed off on her. She was a fixer. Mystogan knew she thought the ability to pinpoint a person's flaws and adress them objectively would always lead to a solution. When he met her, she was fresh off an ugly breakup that didn't have a solution. Her ex-boyfriend had a personality that was incomatible with Juvia's and Mystogan could see how she'd twisted the situation into an ugly knot of personal failure. In the end, he pushed her away before she could blame herself for their expiration date. He cared about her enough to spare her the self-doubt that would accompany any relationship they tried to force. Mystogan never let her see the full picture of the mess he kept inside his head but she'd seen it anyway and didn't protest when he shut her out.

She'd chosen her specialty and Mystogan went back for another residency and fellowship he didn't need. Seeing her again, flushed with the rush of successfully delivering a high-risk baby, had been a real stilleto to the balls. Curls of her hair escaped her bun and she still had the same smile that everyone who ever met her loved right away. He had to get out.

* * *

 

The roof was his sactuary. He retreated there when his head felt too full and too heavy. She found him just after sunset and he wished he wasn't so predictable. It wasn't until she joined him on the ledge that his heart hurt. She still smelled like Japonica. He missed it – he hadn't realized until that very moment but he _missed_ it.

“You know, I almost didn't take this job,” she said quietly. “I didn't know if it would be possible to share a building with you.”

“My reputation preceeds me, then?” he'd meant for it to come out hilariously dry but failed.

“I never listen to hospital gossip.” Juvia sighed and glanced over at him. “Even if I did, I wouldn't need to. You're transparent, Mystogan.”

“There's an oncology nurse on the second floor who would disagree with you. She called me, what was it, a thick cloud of noxious, insensitive fumes in the shape of a man too young for his job.” Juvia laughed lightly.

“You're a miserable man,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”

“I've always been this way.”

“No, you used to be _less_ miserable. You used to smile every now and then.” Juvia angled her body toward him and bent one leg in front of her on the ledge. “You used to be the smartest person in the room without all the prickles. What happened?”

“I grew up, I guess.” Mystogan spun around and the soles of his sneakers hit the concrete. “It's nice to see you again, Juvia.”

He left her on the roof as quickly as possible but felt her eyes on his back long after he'd taken eight flights of stairs down to the ground floor.

* * *

 

“His potassium is climbing because of the kidney damage, which is damaging his heart. He'll die.” Mystogan stabbed his finger on the surface of the conference table.

“We'll put him on dialysis.” The woman across from him was very obviously digging in her heels. “The mother is mentally ill,” she snapped. “You really should be looking into her instead of this –”

“She doesn't have a history of mental illness besides post-pardum,” offered one Mystogan's team members softly. “The siezures will only get worse if we don't find a cause.”

“We're already treating the infection with antibiotics,” the pediatrician argued. Even though her response was meant for his subordinate, her glare was firmly on Mystogan. “I don't appreciate disrespect of my authority in this department, Doctor Fernandes.”

“This is _my_ case now and I am my _own_ department,” he snapped back. Mystogan felt the other gaze – one that hadn't been there before. The one from behind him. He didn't need to glance back to know Juvia had entered the room.

The pediatrician's eyes narrowed. “You don't get to trample all over everyone's toes in this hospital. I'm sick to death of the way you stalk around everywhere and act like the rules don't apply to you because you're some kind of savant or genius.”

She went on but Mystogan sighed and leaned against the table. In a familiar motion the tip of his thumb and forefinger slid beneath his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes again, Juvia was still leaning against the door frame. Her face was expressionless but her eyes held him firmly. He stared at her and tuned the very angry pediatrician out. Juvia seemed to suck the poison out of the room without even trying. His head cleared and he had a thought.

Mystogan spoke directly to her even though she had nothing to do with the case. “What do you use in the NICU to bind IV meds?”

“Wheat gluten,” she answered without hesitation. Her expression didn't change when he suddenly stood straight.

“It's Celiac Disease.”

The pediatrician huffed but Mystogan's team fled the room, talking amongst themselves. When the department head finally cleared the room with a scathing glare, Juvia sighed. She crossed over the linoleum floor until she was close enough to breathe in and reached up to tidy the collar of his white coat.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“I didn't do anything.”

“I couldn't think straight and you helped me.”

“You need better people skills, _Papi,”_ she said under her breath. The petname was one he hadn't heard in a long time. “I should get home. It's late.”

“I have to stay to make sure my patients survive the night.”

Juvia's fingers moved from the collar of his coat to the apple of his cheek. “Where will you sleep?”

“I have a very nice office chair,” he said, only half joking. Juvia sighed and Mystogan wished he could tell if she was disappointed in him or not.

“I guess you haven't changed _that_ much.” She smiled but he couldn't miss the sadness in it. “I'll see you around, Mystogan.”

When he was alone in the conference room Mystogan felt tired. The day weighed heavily on his shoulders. He fell into a chair that wasn't nearly as nice as the one in his office and realized it wasn't just this one day but _years._

* * *

 

Juvia very rarelysought him out. He didn't know if it was out of stubbornness or a desire to know _exactly_ how much he wanted to be in her space but she made _him_ come to _her_. For the first time since he'd been brought on at the hospital – and if he were honest, years before that – he wanted another human's company for lunch... and sometimes dinner depending on the day and her shift.

More than once she popped into a tension filled room just to watch him from the doorway. Given her policy on making herself available to him only when he did the work, he sometimes suspected one of his team members summoned her when he was behaving in an especially belligerant way.

On the days he felt the track in his head stretching in front of him for _years_ he'd go to her office and wait. She'd run her fingers through his hair and tug at the tips just so. He remembered the way her fingernails would dig into his shoulders and wondered how wide he'd have to fling his doors open to convince her that he _missed_ her and wanted to do something about it.

The answer was painful and obvious. All the way. He'd have to let her all the way in or she'd allow him nothing.

* * *

 

“But I don't _like_ dictations,” he whined.

“I don't recall asking,” Juvia said lightly, tidying the stack of papers. “It'll take you a few hours, max.”

_“A few hours?”_

She leaned over his shoulder and poked her thumbs into the tense muscles between his shoulder blades and spine. He felt her lips brush his ear. “If you kept up with your administrative work, it wouldn't be so bad.”

“Usually I just get Morrison to do it.” Juvia's firm but gentle massage turned painful.

“You _can't_ continue asking the only woman on your team to do your clerical stuff. It's unbelievably sexist.”

“But she doens't mind,” he offered weakly.

 _“I_ mind.” The pager clipped to Juvia's waistband beeped in a high shrill and she sighed. “I gotta go.” For half a second he thought she'd kiss him but she didn't.

* * *

 

News of the death travaled fast. Patients died all the time but not babies. Mystogan found her on the staff balcony that faced the city. She leaned against the outer wall of the hospital with her shoes poking out from under the overhang. The bottom hem of her blue scrub pants changed from periwinkle to navy in the rain. Mystogan let the door close behind him and slid his hands into his pockets.

“It's not your fault.”

“It feels like it is,” Juvia whispered. She didn't wipe her tears away and they left droplets on her shirt.

“My first month here I had a patient – a pregnant woman – die on the table. They saved the baby but she...” He sighed. “She didn't make it.”

Juvia reached out for his hand and he let her pull him closer.

“I spent days in my office watching the video and reading and re-reading her charts. I thought maybe I could figure out where I went wrong or where I was too slow and maybe next time I could be faster and smarter.” He sighed and pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

She said nothing for several long minutes. The night cooled further and finally she turned to him. “Take me home.”

Mystogan blinked. “Yeah, okay. Just tell me how to get there and –”

“No,” she whispered. _“Your_ home.”

He understood that if he took her home, he wouldn't be able to leave her later. She'd wrapped his leash around her hand one loop at a time and there wouldn't be any spare inches left after this.

* * *

 

She clung to his shoulders and when her back hit the wall beside his bedroom door, her fingernails pierced his skin. Juvia's thighs trapped him between her legs with only enough space to drive into her over and over again. Her gasps and breaths were high pitched and he'd missed _this_ too. He moved in to kiss her and she quickly pressed a hand over his mouth.

“You can't kiss me unless you mean it,” she breathed. Juvia's eyes slid closed when he hitched her leg higher around his waist. “Don't fucking kiss me, Mystogan.”

He grabbed her wrist – she didn't really need him to hold her up, Juvia's legs were amazingly strong – and pinned it above her head.

“And what if I mean it?”

Juvia's eyes were the darkest shade of blue. Now they appeared almost black. “If you kiss me, I'll want things.”

“Things?” She tightened around him and he brushed his lips over her cheek.

“It can't be like before.”

His head fell to her shoulder and he could finally smell the scent of her the rain had tried very hard to wash away. “I'm –”

“You're work, Mystogan.” She wriggled her hand out of his grasp and wrapped both arms around his neck. He gripped her hip and felt himself on the edge. Mystogan loved the edge. The climb was fine. The fall was delicious. But the edge? It was _perfection._ “But I'm good at work.”

“What if I'm not worth it?”

“You _are._ You were worth it back when we were residents and you're still worth it now.” She closed her hand around his throat and brushed her thumb against the edge of his jaw. He hadn't shaved in at least a day and she enjoyed the roughness.

“But –”

“If you want to kiss me and mean it, _do it_ or fuck off so I can leave.”

She didn't take her hand off his throat when he finally kissed her. She squeezed lightly and felt his groan all the way down to her curling toes. Her hand moved to the back of his head and through his hair when he felt himself spill into her.

Mystogan hadn't caught his breath at all when she slid down to the floor and pushed him backward into his bed. He'd always had a fairly low recovery time – which was good because Juvia wasn't the kind of girl who cared to wait. Her thick curls brushed his chest as she left a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses downward. Mystogan's eyes widened when she grinned just before taking him into her mouth. No preamble. No talking. No complaining of mess. It turned him on like he didn't think anything else could. She swallowed every drop and crawled back up his chest. One finger traced the line of his jaw and for a brief moment he wished he'd bothered to shave. But then he remembered.

She bounced a little on the mattress when he flipped over over. Her breasts were still confined in a plain black bra most suited to a long shift at the hospital. He tossed it aside and closed his mouth over the pale pink tips. Here, he was frustratingly gentle. Juvia tugged at his hair and huffed. Her aggravation and impatience fizzled when he sucked the smooth skin of her inner thigh into his mouth and scraped his teeth over the swell of flesh.

His fingers slid inside of her before his mouth made it that far. Like him, Juvia had an affinity for the edge. She could hold out on herself for a punishing amount of time. He knew there was a place inside her head that she kept separate from everything else. A place reserved for distractions. Mystogan would never say so in a moment like this but he suspected that place would grow quite a bit during the course of her career.

The scruff of his cheeks and chin abraided her slick skin but he knew she loved it. Her back arched and she leveraged her hands against his headboard to press herself against his mouth. When she came it was hard and fast and impressive. _Everything_ about Juvia was impressive.

Mystogan joined her on the pillows and heaved a deep breath. He felt the mattress move but even more so, he felt her eyes on him. His head rolled to the side to find her expression searching.

“When I said it can't be like before, I meant it,” she whispered. “But –”

“Juvia, I've never... I mean I haven't ever _tried_ before. Tell me what you need.”

“I don't know yet,” she said honestly. “I'll let you know.”

“I don't want you to feel like you're doing everything and I'm just _existing_.”

She smiled and leaned over to kiss him. Not the heated, mid-sex sort of kiss. This was softer. “I'm willing to put in this work for you but I need work from you, too. We'll start at the bottom.”

“Okay.”

Juvia's hair crowded him on the pillows but he didn't care. He'd never had someone so utterly invade his space before and he found he didn't care about that either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to be read after Chapter 41 of [Siegrain in Lutalica](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11422053/chapters/25589952) and before Chapter 43.

He told himself it was for the girls. They were fussy babies. On the nights when they wore Juvia out, Mystogan would bring them both to the living room and play. Their swings ran on batteries but there was an entire drawer dedicated to batteries in the kitchen. Back and forth the swings moved in tandem. He would start the night out with something to catch and hold their attention. Music quick and light. When he had their ear and the cries subsided, he would inevitably ease into something heavier. Something more familiar.

Acnologia had always loved the Chopin Nocturnes. Mystogan had more than one childhood memory of pressing his face between the balusters of the staircase late at night when his mind wouldn’t turn off and he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes his brothers would follow, sometimes not. Acnologia was fond of the late hours. The open bottle of whiskey and nearly empty lowball glass would sit on the top of the piano along with a cigar left smoking on the edge of the ashtray. Acnologia loved vanilla tobacco. If Mystogan closed his eyes and conjured images of his father the phantom scent of vanilla would seep in always.

He knew he would never play as well as his father. Mystogan couldn’t make his fingers move as smoothly as he wanted no matter how perfectly he’d memorized the music but he would _try._ For his daughters he would try.

It wasn’t just for the babies, though. He needed it. When his father inevitably passed Mystogan had already decided he wouldn’t ask for a single thing. He could play the music without the sheets. He could order cases and cases of the whiskey Acnologia preferred. He could even procure the cigars. There was nothing he wanted more than to hear his father play the notes flawlessly in person. Only Sofia played as well as the old man. Something about that made Mystogan’s chest feel utterly empty. His daughters would never know Acnologia like Sofia did.

Maybe if he’d realized he was attached to Juvia sooner. Maybe his daughters would’ve had more time. Of course, that would mean he’d have missed out on all his specialized training and experience and he’d lack the clout necessary to push his dad through a long waiting list of patients. He wouldn’t have been able to personally ensure Acnologia had only the _best_ care available. Not that such things mattered when the old man refused aggressive treatments.

And, of course, if Mystogan _wasn’t_ the doctor he was now, he wouldn’t have been burdened with Acnologia’s secrecy. And maybe his brothers wouldn’t hate him so much. Jellal would come around. But not Siegrain. Mystogan understood the hardness in his brother’s expression. He’d never forget it. _Betrayal._ They never, _ever_ kept big secrets and he’d went and kept the biggest one ever. He’d chosen his dad over his brothers. There wasn’t shame in his choice, he’d done nothing but honor his father’s wishes, but he couldn’t take it back. Now he could possibly lose at least one brother _and_ his father.

“Hey,” the voice was a whisper in his ear and Mystogan realized the room had fallen silent. His fingers were still poised over the keys but there was no sound other than the heater clicking on and the soft whirr of the baby swings. Juvia’s arms encircled his shoulders from behind and he felt like he’d fall completely apart if she let go.

“I fucked it all up,” he breathed. “I got angry at my dad for making a medical choice I hated and my brothers now hate me in return. They understand his choice but not mine.” Mystogan swung his legs over the bench and spun around to bury his face in Juvia’s middle. “I fucked it _all_ up.”

“You’re taking the blunt force of a thing you didn’t cause. Your brothers will come to understand. Bonds like yours aren’t so easily damaged, _Papi.”_

“You didn’t see Sieg’s face. I’ve seen him angry before – _furious –_ but never with me. I don’t think I can fix this.” His arms around her tightened. “I’ll just add it to the list of other shit I can’t fix.”

“You aren’t the first doctor to not cure cancer,” she insisted softly. “This isn’t your personal failure.”

“Then why does it feel like this?”

“Because even though you’re stuck in your own head a lot of the time you love your family.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Do you remember when you told me about your pregnant patient that died? You said you spent ages trying to refigure the circumstance in her favor.”

“That was different.”

“I don’t think it is. Sometimes things happen. And they’re horrible, yes. And, no, they can’t be changed or fixed.”

Mystogan’s fingers closed around handfuls of Juvia’s t-shirt. His chest felt heavy. “When we were kids my dad got me this ant farm. My mom hated it but he couldn’t take it away because it’d been a bribe.” He laughed softly. “He wanted me to play soccer and I wouldn’t unless I got something out of it. So I asked for the craziest thing I could think of at the time. It was an enormous glass thing filled with nutrient gel and ants. I lost interest pretty quickly and started experimenting with behavior patterns.” Mystogan sighed and closed his eyes. “Anyway, Sieg never gave up soccer and one day he was being careless and knocked the ball over my bed and right into the ant farm. The damn thing was top heavy and tumbled over itself and broke on the headboard. It was a horrible mess. I was so angry. So, _so_ angry with him. I didn’t speak to him for three days until I’d finally had enough of his pouting and gifts of badly cooked waffles.”

Juvia said nothing. Her fingers wove through his hair and eased the weight in his chest.

“It’s been a week,” he finally whispered. “I’m afraid he’s never going to forgive me.” Juvia’s fingers slid over his face and she gently pressed her thumbs under his chin to angle his gaze upward.

“He will.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I understand people, _Papi._ He’s licking his wounds now but he’ll come around.”

“It’s all I can think about. It feels selfish because my dad is _dying_ and all I can think about is my brother hating me.”

“That’s not selfish. Your brothers are your support system. The three of you are all pieces of the same whole. He’ll forgive you and soon. Be patient. Let him work things out in his head, and he’ll realize there’s nothing you’ve done that deserves distrust or hatred.”

“But –”

Juvia pressed a finger to his lips and unwrapped his arms from her waist. She took his hands in hers and pulled him to his feet. He followed her from the living room with a glance backwards at the sleeping babies.

“Will they be okay?”

“They’ll be fine,” she whispered. “You help me forget things so I can sleep at night, Mystogan, now let me help you.”

Juvia surprised him – which was probably what needed to happen in order for him to stop fixating on the situation at hand. She pulled the door nearly closed – not to much that any cries from the twins couldn’t be heard – and prowled across the room toward him. She moved at an achingly slow pace. His shirt was the first to go, and then his pajama pants. The backs of his knees hit the bed and he felt both the sheets against his back and her weight over him in the same breath. She tossed her t-shirt over her shoulder and pressed her naked body against his. Her fingers threaded through his hair again.

“You need a haircut,” Juvia whispered offhandedly. She touched the apples of his cheeks and her fingers slid down over his chin and neck. Her palms planted squarely over his chest before she reached between her legs to grab him. Mystogan loved Juvia more than he’d ever thought himself capable of romantically loving another person. She directed his aimlessly racing mind with a thoughtfulness and expertise he’d come to rely on. She gave him a reason to feel and _act_ human. He didn’t think he could live without her. But now? In this moment? Her handjob skills were at the forefront of his mind. She leaned down again and her breasts against his chest were sinfully soft. Her tongue brushed over his lips before she kissed him with a force that counterbalanced the teasing strokes of her hand.

Mystogan’s thoughts were already scattering when she suddenly sat up and lowered herself onto his cock. He gripped her generous hips – honestly, Juvia’s body was _perfect_ for his hands and he _loved_ it – and exhaled harshly. Just as her had moved before, her hips moved slow but steady. Curls of her hair hung over her breasts and in her face. She grabbed his wrist and moved his hand to the place he entered her and positioned his thumb where she wanted it. Normally Mystogan drove their bus but tonight he’d follow her instruction. He focused on the pattern and swirl of his thumb, the circular motion of her hips, and the squeeze of her absolutely flawless thighs.

Juvia’s free hand slid over his chest again and she pressed her palm to his throat. Her fingers swept over his jaw and her thumb took in the detail of scruff.

“Do you think you’re pretty?” she asked suddenly.

“What?” he gasped.

“You are. No one is as beautiful as you.” The determined look in her eye softened to something else. “The way you lean your chin on your palm when you’re on your laptop is breathtaking, Mystogan.”

He blinked. Juvia wasn’t much of a talker in the sack. Her words were surprising.

“The way your eyes go wide when you handle the girls is a _lot._ Everything about you is captivating. I don’t think you know.”

“I –” Her thumb pressed into the muscle of his jaw and he closed his mouth.

“You’re more beautiful than your brothers. You distract me.”

Mystogan’s thumb slowed and she dug her fingernails into his wrist in response. Her eyes slid closed and her head fell back. She didn’t drag herself out the way he was used to, instead she spasmed hard and didn’t protest when he suddenly sat up and flipped her to her back. His pace was merciless and he found his orgasm fast. He couldn’t catch his breath. Never had she spoken to him so frankly about her feelings. She didn’t really have to but the words were still thick and sweet in his ears.

“I don’t want to call you my distraction,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “I love you more than that.”

“I know.” Juvia kissed him quickly and rolled to her side when he moved off her. “I’ll put the girls to bed, okay?”

“Yeah.” She left another kiss on his forehead and grabbed her long t-shirt off the floor before slipping from the room. Mystogan quickly replayed her words over in his head in a loop until he was asleep. He didn’t want to think about anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this one but it doesn't quite fit the tone or cast of [Siegrain in Lutalica](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11422053). It is quite literally Mystogan specific incidental remarks.

The snow that gathered on his windshield was more of a slush than anything else. Globs of it settled along the windshield wipers and slowly crept up the glass. Mystogan hardly noticed. His eyes were glued to the red and white brick building across the parking lot. The last time he’d set foot inside Our Lady of the Angels he’d been seven years old and full of so many questions that most the sisters had nothing but stern expressions for him. Mystogan and his brothers had all been properly Christened but once Siegrain grew into an ambitious flirt, and Mystogan developed into a vocal skeptic, and Jellal showed absolutely _no_ interest in _any_ of it, Acnologia gave up on pushing for Sunday mass. He suspected it was a relief to both his parents. Anna wanted to sleep in and his father enjoyed his morning coffee on the patio no matter the season.

Our Lady of the Angels was one of the older Catholic churches in the city. Her age mostly showed in the concrete outside – _inside_ the wood and plaster and glass had been as well preserved as Mystogan thought possible. He thought maybe the photos of Acnologia and his mother in the same building many, many years before were more weathered than the wood pews that predated the memories. Sofía the elder had only visited her son in this new country twice. Once for his graduation from university and the second for his marriage to Anna Heartfilia. Mystogan hadn’t ever asked his mother for details but he’d pieced together enough off handed comments and gossip to know her family’s presence at the wedding had been thin. His grandmother passed away before he and his brothers were even a thought in Anna and Acnologia’s heads. Mystogan had seen the pictures, though. The woman was small but sturdy. He saw her in both his father’s stern expressions and the soft.

Mystogan hadn’t ever been religious. Not even when he’d attended mass. He didn’t like to ponder things that couldn’t be proven. Sometimes when his edges blurred with alcohol he could admit that science and concepts of God weren’t mutually exclusive, but the abstract and evidence of things unseen didn’t save the lives of his patients.

The chapel was almost silent. His fingers brushed along the glossy, varnished curls of wood. Mystogan heard the whispers of robes and found a harsh comfort in the pews that lined the nave. Morning mass wasn’t much of a spectacle but he watched with rapt attention anyway. As a man of habit himself, Mystogan could – at the very least – understand the comfort in repetition and structure. This particular church serviced a mixed flock of English and Spanish speaking people. He didn’t try and decipher any of it. English, Spanish, and the occasional Latin mixed together in his ears.

“I’ve always wondered how long it would take for one of you to come back,” a voice beside him said softly. Mystogan startled and turned. A woman with thin, wrinkled skin smiled at him. “I never thought it would be you, though, Doctor Fernandes.”

Mystogan blinked. “Sister Adella?” He dredged the name from somewhere in his memory. Somewhere he’d almost forgotten. She’d been old when he was a child. Now she was smaller, thinner, and her hands were gnarled.

“You were always the most –”

“Frustrating?” he offered with a grin.

“Time consuming,” she countered.

“That’s kind of you to say, Sister.”

“I love _all_ God’s children. Even the stubborn ones.” She folded her hands into her sleeves. “I am sorry to hear of your father’s illness.”

“How did –”

She smiled warmly. “He and your mother have always been kind to Our Lady of the Angels. We are grieved but –” Sister Adella sighed and Mystogan braced himself for the words he knew would come. “We cannot ever predict when a soul will be called home.”

“He has a few months. I don’t need to predict it.” Mystogan squeezed his hands together. “He won’t let me treat him. I don’t know what to do.” His chest felt tight and heavy and his mouth felt full of words he was afraid to speak out loud. Sister Adella sat quietly beside him. “I feel helpless and useless and like everything I’ve done up until now is a waste. I kept a secret from my brothers and even though they’ve forgiven me, I still feel like I betrayed them. I have daughters,” he whispered. “They won’t – I don’t know how to handle any of this. Everybody looks at me to fix it but –”

“Do you remember the one summer you and your brothers came to us for the vacation bible school?” Mystogan’s expression furrowed and he glanced over at her but her gaze was still fixated on the row of stained glass windows at the end of the room. “We had a garden in the yard behind the church. Your brothers were easily distracted by the group activities but not you.” Her smile turned fond. “You had so many questions about the soil and the fertilizer and the worms and the bugs eating the leaves of the tomato plants.”

“You told me everything had an order.”

“We can’t _fix,”_ she said in an almost whisper.

“Only adjust.”

“When you say your education has been a waste because you can’t heal your father’s illness, it is an untruth. You have saved the lives of many, yes?”

“Yes but –”

“Then nothing has been wasted.” She sighed and he heard an ever so slight rumble in her chest. “If your father allowed treatments would they save his life?”

“No,” Mystogan whispered. His mind spun in circles trying to figure out all the different reasons Sister Adella’s lungs could be rasping. “Sister, your breaths are –”

“Sometimes seeing the end of the tunnel changes a person. We must weigh the cost of medicine against the quality of the path we have left. Your father has weighed and measured those things.” She turned her eyes on him finally and he stuffed away his questions. She’d already done her own measuring and he knew it. “He’s chosen his way.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You help him down the path.” Sister Adella stood with some effort. “And you pray.”

Mystogan stood and, without much thought, followed her down the aisle to the rows and rows of votives. She passed him a lighter taper and went on to light her own. Mystogan stared at the taper for a long moment before lighting a candle for his father. He didn’t quite know how to pray but he did close his eyes and try to accept his father’s choice.

* * *

 

The babies were still small and squirmy. Juvia was better at getting them into things but he needed to do it himself. She did bring the bags of diapers and formula and wipes and a host of other things out to the car. They snapped the car seats into place and Juvia slid into the passenger seat. She hadn’t asked him where he’d been all morning or why he’d decided on a whim to drive to his parents’ house. And he didn’t question if she understood what he wanted. Juvia _always_ understood.

Anna answered the door with a bright smile and immediately ushered Juvia into the kitchen with her. Mystogan brought both the carriers with him to the living room and fell into the couch beside his father.

“This is a surprise visit,” he said, putting aside his book to smile at the matching little girls. “Did you not have other plans today?”

Mystogan unclipped one of the babies and handed her over to Acnologia, who settled back against the couch with her in his lap. The other started fussing until Mystogan took her himself.

“These are my plans,” Mystogan said lightly. “I was hoping to give Juvia a break for the afternoon but that’s kind of hard to do alone.”

“We can do that.” Acnologia laughed at the way his granddaughter grasped at the buttons on his sweater. At almost eight months they were learning to sit up and move on their own – and anything in grasping distance went right into their mouths. “You and your brothers weren’t as cute as these girls.”

“Well, that’s because they look like their mother.”

“Your mom used to scold me for parading you three around everywhere we went. Her family gatherings, the park, the grocery store.”

“Church?”

Acnologia paused and offered his finger to the baby. “Especially to church.”

“Dad –”

“I know you want to handle this different, son,” he cut in. “But that’s not what I need.”

“Tell me what you need. That’s what I want to do.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Mystogan choked on the lump in his throat and forced out a laugh. “That’s what Juvia said to me when we… well when I...” he trailed off. “What I mean is, I’m good at _doing._ ”

“I just want to be with my family. You and your brothers and all the little ones. This is what makes me happy.”

“That I can do.”

Mystogan kept his sleepy daughter on his shoulder and watched the other tug on his father’s buttons. He didn’t know if this was what Sister Adella meant by helping Acnologia down his path but it felt a whole lot better than helpless anger.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first section of this almost a month ago. Looks like I'm as forgetful as Mystogan. Whoops!

            Mystogan jumped when the refrigerator shut loudly behind him. Anna laughed softly and came to stand at his left in front of the windows. Juvia was in the pool draped over a noodle with a contented expression on her face – an expression she didn’t wear often.

            “How’s she doing?”

            “Your guess is probably better than mine.”

            “Oh, honey,” Anna said with syrupy sweetness. “I erected a mental block between myself and the memories of pregnancy and your toddlerhood ages ago.”

            “Ha, ha,” he muttered. “She’s fine, I think. Back pain mostly.” Mystogan felt Anna’s eyes prodding him.

            “You look exhausted.”

            “Yeah, well, when she doesn’t sleep, I don’t sleep.”

            “So you sit up with her?” Anna asked, opening her bottle of water. “That’s considerate of you.”

            “I think she felt guilt over it for maybe five minutes but when she took maternity leave, that fizzled quickly.”

            “Probably because she knows you’ll take your fatigue out on your team and won’t have to deal with you until that evening.”

            “And I bring home dinner.”

            “Well, what’s the point of having a husband if he doesn’t bring home dinner?” Anna said with a laugh.

            Mystogan’s head tilted to the side. “Husband?”

            “Sorry,” Anna offered. “I always forget you aren’t married. You two sure act like it, though.” She patted his arm and left him in the kitchen. Mystogan watched Anna pass Juvia a bottle of water before reclining in a patio chair.

            “Shit,” Mystogan muttered. _“Shit.”_

            A racket of noise behind him jumbled Mystogan’s thoughts. The sound of Jellal’s children crashing through the house, past him, and out the backdoor was deafening. Erza trailed behind them with the baby carrier and spared him a wave before following them out the door and into the yard.

            “Hey,” Jellal said with a shaky exhale.

            Mystogan glanced over and took in his brother’s haggard appearance. “What’s up with you?”

            “I have three children,” he deadpanned. “Take a guess.” Jellal sucked down half the bottle beer he must’ve swiped from the fridge on his way through the garage.

            “It’s that bad?”

            “Let’s just say I’m glad it’s finally warm enough to leave them to the pool. How’s Juvia? Sorry to kill her quiet floating time.”

            Mystogan shrugged. “She’s okay. I think she’s ready to have her body to herself again.”

            “At first I was disappointed when Erza said she didn’t want more but _man,_ I’ll be happy when the baby is done being a baby. I’d like my wife back.”

            “You’re so needy.” Mystogan folded his hands behind his head and sighed. “I forgot to marry Juvia.”

            “What?”

            “Juvia,” Mystogan repeated. “I forgot to marry her.” He could feel Jellal’s incredulous gaze.

            “How do you forget a thing like that?”

            “I bought a ring. I just… never asked.”

            “Wait,” Jellal sighed and set aside his beer bottle. “You bought a _ring?_ And you didn’t tell anyone?”

            “It’s not a big deal.”

            “Uh, yeah, it’s a pretty big fucking deal! Especially since you _forgot_ the proposal part!”

            “The proposal part of what?” Siegrain’s voice made him flinch. He’d forgotten anyone else was in the house.

            “Mystogan bought Juvia a ring and then forgot to ask her to marry him,” Jellal supplied.

            “Well, I, for one, am _shocked.”_ Siegrain said slapping his hand over his heart. “Mystogan, you cad! How could you?”

            “Shut up,” Mystogan murmured.

“Where’s Sofia and Lisanna?” Jellal asked.

            “Sofia’s upstairs with dad and Lisanna is with her sister. What are you going to do about the ring?”

            “I’ll ask her later.”

            _“Later?”_ Siegrain demanded. “She’s already pregnant with two of your children at once! How much longer are you going to drag it out?”

            Mystogan pursed his lips in annoyance. Not with his brothers but with _himself._

* * *

 

            From just inside the bathroom he could see her settling back against the pillows. She had a bowl of sliced apples balanced on her belly and the look on her face when she picked through them was both appealing and _appalling._ Mystogan cleared his throat and slid his hand into the pocket of his pajama pants. He curled his hand around the shape of the ring and wondered if he should wipe it off first or if she’d care if his fingerprints were all over it. A quick glance in the mirror revealed his expression to be one he knew Juvia hated. His over-thinking face. Mystogan sucked in a deep breath and flipped off the bathroom light and stepped into the bedroom.

            “You were in there long enough,” she said, smiling at him and popping an apple slice into her mouth. “I thought you’d gotten lost or turned into a peacock like your brother.”

            Mystogan stopped dead in his tracks, confused. “Peacock? What?”

            “Siegrain. You can tell he spends a lot of time in the bathroom.” Juvia quirked an eyebrow. “Are you alright? You look pale.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “If you say so.” Juvia only had eyes for her apples. Mystogan ran his hands over his face and blew out a breath. He took a seat on her side of the bed and pulled her feet into his lap.

            “Juvia,” he began slowly. “I owe you an apology.”

            “What for?”

            “I –” The words jumbled on his tongue like a fifteen car pileup on the highway. He sighed again and reached into his pocket to pull out the ring. The light from the bedside lamp caught the stone. “Juvia, I forgot to marry you.”

            “Mm, no you didn’t forget to marry me,” she said, putting aside her half-empty bowl of apples. “You just forgot to ask.”

            “You don’t sound mad.”

            “Why would I be mad?” Juvia adjusted herself against the pillows and held out her hand for the ring. He placed it in her palm hesitantly. “You bought the ring, you just forgot to ask.”

            “How did you know I bought the ring?”

            “Well,” she said with a brilliant grin. “For one thing, you’re sitting here with it. But –” Juvia shrugged and slipped it on her finger. “I also found it in your pants pocket three months ago during a dry cleaning sweep.”

            “My… pocket?”

            She laughed and poked him in the ribs with her foot. “Yes, you dope. You’re lucky I found it. So is this your proposal?”

            “I – no! I wanted to ask you properly!”

            “Define properly.”

            “Well, I don’t know. Something romantic maybe?”

            Juvia pursed her lips. “I’m the size of a whale. Bring me the caramel I left on the kitchen counter and we’ll call it romantic,” she said dryly.

            “You deserve –”

            “Caramel to go with my apple slices? Yes, yes I do.”

            “Juvia, I’m serious. I feel like every part of _us_ is somehow stunted by me and my inability to function normally.”

            “Normal is overrated,” she said softly, smiling at the way the ring sparkled on her finger. “I want you just as you are, Mystogan. Forgetfulness and all.” Juvia swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.

            “But what if I’m a shitty parent or –” He huffed in surprise when she pressed a finger over his mouth and slid one knee to the bed beside his hip.

            “Stop talking. Stop worrying.” Juvia eased herself over his lap and Mystogan inched backward on the mattress. When he had her in place she kissed him forcefully. “You want to know how to make this proposal perfect?”

            “Anything,” he whispered against her lips. Juvia grabbed his wrist and directed his hand between her legs.

            “Make me say yes.”

            Mystogan smiled. She wore nothing under her nightgown and he gave into the base, primal urges he’d been fighting off ever since Juvia’s belly began to expand. He found he couldn’t stop _staring._ There was something about seeing her nightclothes – and, if he were honest, even her scrubs – cling to her new shape that immediately curbed his attention span for literally anything else. He _liked_ seeing her round with his children. _His._ Juvia was _his_ and he’d impregnated her and –

            “Stop,” she breathed. “Stop thinking so much.”

            He focused on the curve of her neck and the cherry scent of her body wash and the way his fingers slid oh, so easily inside of her. Juvia clutched at his shoulders and violently tugged at his shirt. The fabric hung in a lump off the arm he had under her nightgown. She inched as close to him as her body would allow and nipped at his jaw.

            “There,” she gasped suddenly. _“Yes.”_ Her eyes screwed shut and when she came, Mystogan shifted under her and grit his teeth at the gloriously painful way his erection pressed into her thigh.

            “Was that my yes?” he asked with a laugh.

            “Yeah.” Juvia kissed him again before sliding backwards and down to her knees. He didn’t offer her any outs when she pulled his cock out of his pants and took him into her mouth without any preamble. For once, Mystogan gave into the sensations and let go of his usual build and release. Juvia kissed his knee and reached for his hand.

            “Oh, sorry,” he muttered breathlessly and pulled her to her feet. She stood over him and dropped another kiss on his lips.

            “I wasn’t kidding about the caramel in the kitchen. Can you get it for me?”

            Mystogan grinned and adjusted his pajama pants. “Will you say yes again so we can have a proposal story that isn’t x-rated?”

            “I’ll think about it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of this tangent. Thank you for reading and I hope you've enjoyed the ride as much as I have. The final chapter of Siegrain in Lutalica will be up shortly.

            Siegrain pushed Sofia on the swings with a flawless blend of care and risk. Sofia squealed in delight and it brought a smile to Mystogan’s lips. She kicked her feet and begged for her father to let her jump. Siegrain tried to beg her off it but eventually caved. He stood in front of her with open arms as Sofia launched herself at the apex of her swing. She giggled endlessly when he, of course, caught her against his chest.

            “Why don’t you go play for a bit,” Siegrain said just loud enough for Mystogan to hear it. “I need to talk to your uncle, okay?”

            “Okay!” Sofia tested every inch of the playground at the edge of the beach before settling just beyond the equipment to build a sand kingdom where she could rule with perfect benevolence. Mystogan watched her stomp all over her castle molds and grimaced. Perhaps his niece was more of a cruel overlord.

            “So we got the assessments back from the shrink,” Siegrain said from beside him on the bench.

            _“Psychiatrist,”_ Mystogan corrected.

            “Whatever. She’s incredibly advanced in not only academics but empathy and emotional development.” Siegrain scraped the soles of his shoes over the sand particulates scattered on the concrete. Mystogan broke out of his reverie and poked at the bridge of his glasses.

            “What does Jenny want?”

            “Jenny wants to put her in a Montessori school for the _gifted and talented.”_ Siegrain’s sarcastic tone would’ve said enough even if Mystogan didn’t know his brother as well as he did. “There’s not a single kid her age in those classes, though. She’ll be the lone four year old in a bunch of six and seven year olds. I don’t like it.”

            “Hm.” Mystogan leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. He watched Sofia squish handfuls of damp beach sand between her fingers. The wind lifted wisps of blonde hair and she cackled. “You don’t think she’ll find any peers?”

            “I don’t know,” Siegrain muttered. “She might make some friends but I just don’t see why it’s so important to put her on a faster track when she’s still so little.”

            Mystogan felt his brother’s gaze acutely. His mind drifted back to his own early education with a painful clarity. He’d always been _different._ It started out with just a few inches of space between himself and his brothers but over time those few inches became miles of lonely road. He’d always been in _‘special’_ classes and schools. By the time he was eleven he was so far ahead of all his age peers he spent most of his days in a separate classroom toiling away on advanced things like calculus and anatomy and literature reserved for high school students.

            He couldn’t bring himself to resent his parents even though they’d been the ones at the wheel. They’d only ever strove for his best interests. Anna got him into an incredibly exclusive private academy when he was twelve, and just after his fifteenth birthday Mystogan was balls deep in college coursework.

            Long before he ever tested out of high school Mystogan was lonely. He missed his brothers more than anything else. Being the _special_ one wasn’t ever a thing that made him _feel_ special. Seeing Sofia on the cusp of a similar childhood experience made his heart hurt. She didn’t have any cousins or siblings – though Mystogan thought for sure Jellal would be knocking up Erza as soon as the wedding was behind them – and would rely on friends to keep her company. How would she ever make friends if she were the youngest in any given group? He knew all too well what being a baby savant was like. Miserable and lonely.

            “Don’t do it,” he finally blurted, not waiting for Siegrain to ask.

            “Jenny won’t be satisfied without _something,”_ Siegrain said with a sigh. “She’s not trying to push Sofia into anything that would make her unhappy –” Siegrain cut off and Mystogan watched his niece bury her legs in the sand. “I just think she’s afraid of Sofia resenting us later for holding her back.” His words were almost lost in the wind coming off the ocean.

            “She won’t.” Mystogan turned to Siegrain and grinned. “You two are doing great. Sofia’s perfect. She won’t resent you.”

            Siegrain’s expression twisted disbelievingly. “Why are you being so nice?”

            “Call it nostalgia or temporary insanity,” he said with a shrug. “I care about my niece so I’m being a benevolent brother.” Mystogan clapped his hand on Siegrain’s shoulder. “You should be thanking me.”

            “Fuck off,” Siegrain muttered.

            “Look, Sofia is gonna need therapy as an adult anyway because no matter what, parents always fuck things up. Just know that no matter what you do, she’s going to tell a therapist about it at some point.”

            “Thanks. Is this what you talk about with your own therapist?”

            “I’m fucking a girl at the university hospital with a psychiatrist for a mother. Close enough, right?”

            “Sure.”

            “My point is this: there’s a middle ground. If you want her to have another year of pre-school, that’s just fine. I don’t think it’ll stunt her in any way. Once she’s five, you can put her in the Montessori and see where things go from there. I had a look at that list you forwarded me from Jenny and think that one over in uptown is a good choice. It’s not like you can’t afford to front the cash for tuition.”

            “That’s not the point.”

            “It is for a _lot_ of people.”

            “But –”

            “You asked for my advice and I gave it.”

            “Technically I hadn’t asked yet.”

            “Whatever.” Mystogan stood and dug in his pockets for change – he somehow _always_ had loose change.

            “Where are you going?”

            “To buy my niece a red snow cone so she can ruin her shirt before you take her home.”


End file.
